“Even in death, a man remains modest.” He held up a finger. “Look, Jane, Sarah Stevenson graduated from the Woman’s Hospital Medical College, an outgrowth of a hospital established in 1865 by—”
“Mary H. Thompson, a hospital for indigent women and children—”
“—which only last year became a department of—”
“I know, Gabby is studying at the Thompson School at Northwestern University now, but as I said, she’s having CITY FOR RANSOM
131
similar problems as any woman in medicine has for the past sixty years! Mary Thompson herself finished for her degree during that one-year experiment for the Chicago Medical College, the same year three other women were stranded in their studies. Now it’s 1893 and soon it’ll be 1900, Christian, and you want me to believe things have improved?” “By degrees, yes.”
“Degrees?”
“Women are now admitted into competition for internships at Cook County Hospital and Asylum.”
“And how many of those internships’ve gone to women at your precious medical facility?”
“The numbers improve each year, I assure you. Hopefully, by the turn of the century coeducation in medicine will be an accepted reality.”
“Do you know what happened to my reality, sir, when I was no longer at ease at Rush, made to feel that way by the male students?”
“You disappeared.”
“Not entirely, no. I first wound up at the Hahnemann Medical College.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“That place occupying several rooms over a drugstore?
On South Clark?”
“The one that prospered last during the Civil War, yes.”
He bit back a show of anger.
“Not long there, I moved on to the Bennett College of Eclectic Medicine and Surgery, where the systematic teaching of pathology and bacteriology has only now begun. I got some smattering of laboratory work in chemistry, a bland education in surgery, histology and nothing of physiology.” “Little wonder you ran to Europe, but you might’ve come to me first. Why didn’t you?”
“Pride perhaps . . . anger . . . the anger of youth.” She failed to say she feared he’d fallen in love with her.
“Ahhh . . . fire of stubborn youth,” he replied.
132
ROBERT W. WALKER
“I’ve no regrets of going abroad. I returned with a medical degree and my Gabrielle.”
“A good thing, I’m sure.”
“Look, Doctor, you ask that I deal with reality now. Deal with it was your most oft repeated admonition to all your med students.” She indicated her disguise. “I dress in drag to fit the reality that makes it a man’s world.”
“It’s ethically wrong, Jane.”
“And you? How do you deal with reality? You torture yourself for countless years?”
A brief stunned look as if struck by a sudden pain and Fenger calmly replied, “Me . . . me and reality . . . how do I deal with it?”
“Your hands’re in it each day.”
“While I find beauty in the human body, I also find suffering. Yes, I suppose I do recreate this thing we call reality in my work every day . . .”
“Yes, in order to do what you do.”
“. . . in order to remain standing and doing surgery for eighteen, twenty, thirty hours at a stretch at times.”
“Like when Haymarket happened, the Great Fire?”
“Haymarket, yes, and as a much younger man, the fire.
Actually the Great Fire benefited my reputation. Soon after, I was teaching at Rush and practicing at Cook County at age thirty-seven.”
“You patched up Ransom when he was hurt in the bombing at Haymarket, didn’t you?”
“Everyone was called to help.”
“And you saved Alastair Ransom’s life.”
“Any doctor would’ve done what I—”
“No, sir. I looked at the hospital record.”
“Really now?”
“Another doctor had written him off, and even then, you understood how ninety percent of wound infection occurred, so you took sanitary steps to see to it that he did not lose his leg or his life for that matter. You were so far advanced over the other men practicing medicine then.”
CITY FOR RANSOM
133
“He proved a strong patient.”
She half smiled at the characterization. “Being bull-headed may’ve saved him in some situations, but you saved him that day. It’s what you do, Dr. Fenger, what sets you apart.”
“Please . . . being set apart is a lonely proposition.”
“Regardless, you . . . you save lives amid all this circus—this passing parade of angels and demons in this . . . this—”
“This floating opera we call Chicago?”
“Precisely.” Jane stood and bid him good night, taking her leave.
CHAPTER 14
Later the same night
Jane gasped, startled to find Alastair Ransom on Dr. Tewes’s doorstep, wearily smoking. In a cornice window, she saw Gabby staring from behind curtains, that damnable pistol—an ancient old breach-loading Sharp’s longer than Gabby’s forearm—poised. Jane had removed the firing cap, rendering the thing useless whether loaded or not.
Apparently, Gabby found Alastair not only an exotic fellow, but at least as frightening as if a bear had wandered up onto the porch.
She wondered momentarily at the strangeness of life in its permutation through the aging process; how such a handsome, bright-eyed, intelligent, soft-spoken, pleasant, sweethearted, concerned, giving creature as Alastair’d been as a child could be so different now. How had he become such a clod, a sot, a womanizer, and a fool?
“What are you doing here, Inspector?” she asked as Tewes. “Surely, you’ve not come to beat me senseless or to shoot me?” She said it loudly enough for neighbors to hear, but primarily, she wanted Gabrielle to calm down.
“Here to offer my apologies.”
“Really? This comes as a surprise,” she lied.
CITY FOR RANSOM
135
“I know you mean well.”
“And what has brought you round to this startling conclusion?”
“I’m trying to apologize for what occurred at the train station.”
“You’re here about Polly . . . Merielle.”
He glared. “Yes, was ’round earlier on that errand. Look, you had no right browbeating my Merielle and—”
“Browbeating?”
“—and running me down, using dubious methods to de-moralize her and—”
“Dubious? Demoralize?”
“—to set her against the only man who’s been good for her, and who has her best interest at heart. If you’d bothered learning the nature of our relationship, you’d know—despite my shortcomings—I bring a certain stabilizing force into her life, a certain, ahhh . . .” “Normalcy?”
Tension palpitated between them.
“Yes, damn you, normalcy.”
“I doubt, sir, you’ve any acquaintance with normality.”
“And you do, I suppose, you the magician of Belmont Street, espousing magnetism and this . . . this bogus science of phrenology, no better than reading the stars or tea leaves.”
“If the tea leaves fit.”
“Look, I did not come here to argue—”
“But that is all you’ve done!”
“I want you to advise Merielle of my strengths, the list of reasons why she should remain mine.”
“You men—” she stopped herself. “Fellows like you, I mean—police and others in authority . . . you really do believe you can own someone, don’t you? Body and soul.”
Their voices had risen and there came a tapping on the windowpane. Both men stared at Gabrielle. Finally, Ransom asked, “She any good with that hog leg?”
“She’s quite good with it,” Jane again lied.
“I suppose you taught her at an early age to point guns?”
136
>
ROBERT W. WALKER
“In this environment, is that so wrong? Seems the norm, in fact. Hair Trigger Block is a short stroll.”
“Then you value your daughter well.”
“That I do . . . yes.”
“Perhaps then we should continue elsewhere, say Muldoon’s end of the block?”
Jane feared going off with this man anywhere, but as Tewes, she must show no flinching—just as she’d not failed the test of manliness at the railway station. “Give me a moment to settle Gabby then,” she calmly replied.
“Agreed.”
“Then we’ll reconnoiter how to civilly work together.”
“Work together?”
“On how best to help Polly.”
“Ahhh . . . yes.”
“And on how best to pursue a killer?”
“Hold on. My being here’s in no way a conciliatory gesture in that direction.”
“Fair enough. Only a moment then.” Tewes disappeared into the house. Alastair could hear the daughter giving Tewes hell about going off into the night with Inspector Ransom.
The young thing was wise. Tewes must’ve told her what had transpired at the train station. Ransom relit his pipe beneath the gaslight and paced the sidewalk, his cop’s eye reading the night street. A ragged little Italian family searched through discarded items in an alleyway. Two desperate-looking men stepped from a darkened doorway, perhaps engaged in a shady deal. Along the packed Clark Street, a hansom cab rolled by, pulled by a weary horse favoring its right front hoof. “Likely your mare’s thrown a shoe!” he called after the driver, but the warning went unheeded.
Merielle let him in again. He seemed harmless, and he’d been so complimentary when she really needed complimenting, and he’d apologized for striking her, after all. So she let him back inside, or perhaps she did so, just so she’d CITY FOR RANSOM
137
have something to tell Dr. Tewes. She’d tell Tewes, “Yes, I opened the door because he struck me.” She knew that Ransom wouldn’t return tonight. How devilish to conduct an affair behind Alastair’s back. How devilish indeed to have two men in one night handle her as roughly as Polly preferred.
The gentleman calling himself Mr. Stumpf had asked if she’d seen any of the fair. He spoke of the Ferris wheel, how glorious the lake and the land and the town looked from the sky. “Like a blanket of stars fallen to earth,” he’d said, adding, “what with the lights below instead of above!” How marvelous it’d sounded, and so she’d gone out with the man in cape and top hat to feel for once like a lady, to allow Merielle an opportunity to play herself. Merielle did not disappoint either Polly or the gentleman. She held on his arm like a proper lady, just like her mum had done for her dah.
So they had gone out and taken a carriage ride, something Alastair had never done for her. The gentleman spoke of the great art treasures from around the world housed in the various pavilions of the fair. He spoke of sculpture and artifacts from Asia and beyond. He spoke of it as another world she must see before she died.
“Silly,” she twittered, “I won’t be doing that for some time.”
“Of course not,” he’d replied.
Twice more he apologized about the moment of anger in which he’d blackened her eye. He’d brought a cosmetic just for her to cover it.
To further make up, he’d paid her admission to the fair.
He’d showed her a magnificent night of extraordinary sights, sounds, odors, tastes, and touch. She’d had a popcorn-peanuts-molasses confection called Cracker Jack, and she’d seen how they made saltwater taffy, and she’d seen farm animals and amazing new inventions, all amid a Grecian world of fake white marble.
Polly’d felt stirrings that she’d never felt with any man.
Here was a man who’d not just talked about showing her the world but showed her the world! Sure, he was younger than 138
ROBERT W. WALKER
she, and sure his manhood was small—the reason he’d hit her when she’d laughed—but here was a fellow who didn’t just talk of improving her lot, of keeping her from boredom, but a man who actually followed through on promises, unlike the too busy Ransom.
This little man was Alistair’s opposite in so many ways, except for his roaming hands. Even on the Ferris wheel, so high above the fair, she remained the focus of his attention.
He’d placed his fist up her skirt and dug his fingers into her, making her laugh. He claimed never to’ve touched a woman there before. Claimed himself a virgin.
She’d assured him, “I’ll be gentle.”
She said so again now that they’d returned from the fair, as she teasingly dropped her dress about her feet.
While she tied hair from her eyes, he seductively sidled up, one thing on his mind, Polly’d surmised and giggled.
She leaned back into him, as Stumpf slid something thin and fragile about her throat, a fine wire-width bauble, she thought, when she gasped at her mirrored image on seeing the blood necklace.
Stumpf took his time cutting into her soft flesh. An eighth of an inch at a time, whispering, “In truth, dear Polly, this bow tie’s a gift from Alastair.”
She sputtered, her words choked by blood.
“His vile blessings on it, Polly girl.”
She coughed up the sumptuous meal he’d bought her at the exquisite Palmer House downtown. It came up with blood as she succumbed to death. Blood and bile her last earthly memories. She neither felt nor smelled the kerosene doused over her, nor the fire that lit up her body.
Her dress still about her ankles had soaked up the kerosene too, and it quickly caught flame, and the fire took on a wild life of its own, jumping to the curtains as if alive.
A killing acrid smoke filled Ransom’s love nest.
In a panic, the garroter swept from the place, rushing just ahead of the fingers of fire chasing him out the door of this CITY FOR RANSOM
139
tinderbox. A final glance back as he slammed the door was like looking into the fiery maw of Hades. In minutes, the entire second story was feeding flames; a handful of minutes more, and the growing fire began consuming the ground floor from above.
From a safe distance outside, where Clark met Halsted, the killer stood watching the flames devour Ransom’s home away from home. A giddy laugh wanted escape, but now he realized his vulnerability as an oddly curious odor of burnt hair rose to his nostrils. He lifted the cuffs of his overcoat to find hair on his arms curled into miniature bits of brittle bush—entirely singed.
They strolled the gas-lit street toward Muldoon’s.
“I’ll admit, I didn’t know that Polly was a Merielle until late in our sessions,” began Tewes, who’d pulled forth his own pipe and had accepted a light from Ransom. “Nor . . .
nor that it was you she was—had an arrangement with. Odd coincidence that.”
“I’m not a big one for coincidence, Tewes.”
“Does it so kill you to call me Doctor?”
Ransom only grunted.
Tewes struggled to keep pace with his gait. “Things in Polly’s case . . . they just came to a head recently, and only recently did you come up, sir.”
“What do you mean things came to a head?”
“What doctors who deal with emotional and psychological matters call an epiphany, Inspector.”
“An epiphany?”
“The unexamined life is not worth living, Inspector.”
“Is that an epiphany?”
“Epiphany comes of self-awareness, a realization of one’s own needs or weaknesses, or source of power, or . . . well, you get the idea—Greeks knew of it.”
“I see.”
140
ROBERT W. WALKER
“Good.”
“I’m sure that you’re . . . beneath it all, Tewes, a relatively . . . ahhh . . . ahhh, normal fellow yourself.”
“As my title is so hard to get over your tongue, Inspector, it’s James. Or if you prefer Phineas, Inspector ahhh . . .
Alastair .
. . may I call you Alastair?”
“I suppose it can do no harm.”
“God, man, you can be infuriating. May I or mayn’t I? Or shall we carry on with Inspector and your mix of snipe-and-grumble-and-mutter for doctor?”
“You’re likely the most difficult man to accept an apology that I’ve ever met, James. ”
“Ahhh . . . so your answer comes out, Alastair. ”
They continued in silence. The heartthrob of the city buzzed, all the drays, the cabs, the clopping of horse shoes against earth here, cobblestone there, the more distant sounds of the train yards, the stockyards, ships in the great harbor that was the lakeshore, down to the sound of the gas lamps that lit their way.
“There’s talk of getting electric lampposts, or so I hear,”
said Tewes, looking at a lamp that sputtered on and off. “To replace these old things.”
“We’re rushing into a new century with all our fine inventions, aren’t we?” he calmly replied.
“So much progress . . . and so much loss.”
“Ahhh . . . something we agree on.”
“I suspect you a bit old-fashioned, Alastair.”
“Aye . . . I’ll admit to a touch of it.”
They arrived at Muldoon’s door, and Ransom held it wide. His newfound manners made her suspicious. “Your talk with Dr. Fenger has improved our relations, I’d say.”
“Some, yes.”
“Some . . .” She wondered what some meant. Wondered if Fenger had somehow contacted him, perhaps by phone, and if so, how much Christian had confided.
“Gave me a general dressing-down, he did. He has a far higher opinion of you than I’d imagined possible. Says your CITY FOR RANSOM
141
techniques may be somewhat experimental, ahead of times, even extraordinary—”
“Said that did he?”
“OK, he said you were eccentric.”
“I see.”
They found a seat in the dimly lit, wild saloon, replete with gunmen at the bar, spittoons lining the dirty floor littered with the leavings of the day—mostly bones thrown to prowling dogs, Muldoon’s more obvious friends. Muldoon stood an enormous man behind the bar, slack-jawed giant that he was, and according to a whispered remark into Tewes’s ear, “Muldoon’ll truck no undo criminal activity on the premises unless he gets a cut, so don’t go plying your trade here, James.” Jane decided her disguise as Tewes remained intact, as Ransom’s body language, speech, and swagger, all but the added politeness, remained the same toward Tewes.
City for Ransom ar-1 Page 14
